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  As a result, most of the drivers were the type who stopped between deliveries to smoke dope, have “quickies” with their girlfriends, and god only knew what else. The entire clan, particularly Grammy, was amazed by Neal’s speed and efficiency. In fact, the first few days his promptness in returning to the shop made Grammy so suspicious that she called a few people on his list to make sure that Neal had actually made the deliveries. Ordinarily, this would have irritated Neal, but it only amused him. He was glad the other delivery boys had a good time while they worked and were taking full advantage of the obnoxious—and oddly naïve—Snell family.

  Neal followed old man Snell into the center of the shop, the sickly-sweet aroma of flowers at once making him nauseous. He approached Grammy and started to say good morning, but hesitated when he saw the sour look on her face.

  Grammy glanced at Mildred, Snell’s aging wife, and looked back at Neal. “Where’d you go yesterday when you were supposed to be deliverin’ the bouquet to Miz Foster?”

  Neal looked from one Snell face to the other. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Grammy glanced at her daughter-in-law again, giving her an I-told-you-so look. “You might say that. She never got ‘em.”

  “Well, I delivered them,” Neal said defensively. “I left them on the porch, by the front door.”

  “Why’d you go and do that fool thing?” Grammy snapped.

  “Because that’s what the order slip said to do.”

  “No, sir, it did not. Mr. Foster never wants his wife’s flowers left outside his house—he’s real particular about that.”

  “I don’t mean to contradict you,” Neal said carefully, “but I’m almost sure the delivery slip said to leave them on the porch.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” Grammy said. She began to shuffle through the mountain of delivery slips from the day before. “You can’t just deliver ‘em any way you please, sonny—you got to look at the slip.”

  Mildred gave Neal a doubtful glance and resumed work on a bouquet.

  “What’s the problem?” old man Snell said, stepping up behind Neal.

  Wonderful, Neal thought, glancing over her shoulder. Not only had the screw-up come to the attention of the old man, but all the other Snells in the shop seemed to be listening.

  “Arggh,” Grammy groaned, waving a wiry arm at Neal as if he was a troublesome schoolboy. “Miz Foster called up in a tizzy this morning ‘cause her flowers didn’t get delivered.”

  Neal started to say something in his own defense, but then thought the better of it. He would wait until Grammy located the evidence. He was almost certain that the box on the slip that said IF NOT HOME, LEAVE OUTSIDE DOOR was checked with one of Grammy’s precise little X’s, but after what had happened earlier with his baby daughter that morning, Neal wasn’t completely sure of anything.

  “The Fosters are one of our best customers, son,” the old man said.

  “I know,” Neal said.

  “I went to school with Dan Foster—he was one of my fraternity brothers. He’s one of the most successful lawyers in town.”

  Neal only nodded. He had heard this at least three times the day before. The whole family seemed to pride themselves on how many people—important people—they knew in the Atlanta area. Neal found this a bit ironic, because he had a hard time imagining anyone in high society having much respect for the Snells, especially the old man. Neal rated himself at least twenty rungs above Buford Snell in terms of intelligence, integrity, and overall class. Regardless of Neal’s current dilemma, he was certain that he would be in charge of something a lot more significant than a flower shop when he was sixty years old.

  “Here it is!” Grammy said victoriously, holding the delivery slip in the air. But when the old woman squinted at the yellow piece of paper through her glasses, her expression went flat. “Well...I’ll be. I could have sworn I...”

  The old woman glanced at Mildred, miffed, and then a broad, toothy grin broke across her leathery face. She beamed at Neal as if he were her own son. “You were just as right as you could be. I’m so proud of you!”

  Neal forced a smile. They were amazed that he actually had the brains and reliability of a ten year old. What do you expect? he wanted to say. I’m not a moron—I can read English.

  Old man Snell placed a warm hand on Neal’s shoulder. “That’s good work, son.” He winked at Grammy, clearly pleased that his latest U of G hire had proved to be so remarkable.

  Neal began to load up the van with his morning deliveries, only vaguely aware of the meaningless chatter of Grammy and Mildred and the other Snells while he worked. He had to get another job, a real job, as soon as possible. He not only needed to make some decent money, he needed to be around some halfway intelligent people. And as soon as he found a better position and accumulated a little cash, he would start knocking off some night classes and finish his chemistry degree. Maybe he could still swing medical school, if he could stabilize life with Annie and the baby.

  But as he drove to his first delivery, his optimism faded. He was still troubled by what had happened with Natasha that morning.

  I love you, he thought.

  He remembered the long, heated battles he and Annie had over what to do about her unexpected pregnancy, with Neal arguing adamantly for an abortion. It was hardly an ideal solution to the problem, but to him, it was the only one that made any sense. Neither one of them were prepared to start a family. In Neal’s mind, it was better for him to finish all his education and get his medical career started before they had any children.

  But Annie wouldn’t have it. Once she found out she was pregnant, she seemed hell-bent on giving birth to the child and keeping it, no matter what the price. She had finally told Neal that she would have the baby and raise it herself, and he could just do whatever he pleased. And, if not for his own history, he might have done just that. When Neal was 12, his older sister, Rhonda, had gotten pregnant, and he had spent his entire teenage years listening to what a “selfish prick” the father of the baby had been, some slick insurance salesman who disappeared as soon as Rhonda had missed her first period.

  How could Neal do the same thing to Annie?

  The answer was, he could not, and live with himself. If his family hadn’t known about the situation, he might have gotten away with it, but he had made the mistake of consulting his mother about the matter. “You need to do the right thing, Neal,” she had told him, and it was quite clear what she had meant by this. When he had turned to his father, whom he hadn’t seen more than a half dozen times since elementary school, the advice Neal got was, “Do whatever the hell you want, boy. But if you’re gonna screw up your life by getting married, you’re on your own.” That meant that he would no longer help Neal with his college tuition.

  In the end, against all Neal’s better judgment and his deepest wishes for his own life and his future, he had finally married Annie. No fancy wedding, no honeymoon, not even any wedding rings—he couldn’t afford them. Just a little ceremony downtown at the Justice of the Peace. Afterwards, Neal went back to his dorm room and slept by himself, since they didn’t even have their own apartment then. He figured that he could make it all work, somehow.

  But he had obviously been wrong.

  He regretted that extra millisecond of pleasure more than he had ever regretted anything in his life.

  “I love you,” Neal muttered, as he pulled the Snell van into the parking lot of his first delivery. “I doubt it, Natasha. I doubt it very much.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A little after eleven, in between two of his deliveries, Neal stopped at a bookstore to see if he could ease his mind about the incident with Natasha. No matter what Annie said, Neal still couldn’t believe he had imagined it.

  He found a pretty young clerk working at the front desk. He asked her where the baby books were located.

  “This way,” the girl said, with a knowing smile. As Neal followed her across the store, Neal puzzled over this. But by the time they rea
ched the Family and Parenthood Section, he understood.

  “The pregnancy books are right here,” the girl told him, with another little smile.

  “I already have a baby,” Neal said irritably. “I just need to look something up.”

  “Whatever,” she said, and briskly walked away.

  “Stupid,” Neal mumbled, more to himself that to her. Why was he so embarrassed about having a kid? He was young, but so were a lot of fathers. But maybe he wasn’t embarrassed. Maybe he was just angry about it. Still angry.

  He picked up a book called You and Your Newborn and flipped through the glossary, scanning for any entries that might point him to information about speech development. Annie had a whole library of similar books at home, but Neal had hardly glanced at any of them. He and Annie had completely different opinions about the basic nature of children and their process of evolving into adults. Annie was of the “blank slate” school of thinking—she regarded babies as nothing more than human computers, born ready and waiting to be programmed by their parents and by society, with no prior personality or ability to think or act on their own. As a result, she had an almost paranoid attitude about every little interaction she had with Natasha, afraid that the slightest “mistake” would screw up the poor kid for life.

  In contrast, Neal believed that children come into the world already possessing a certain level of mind and spirit, with their personalities at least partially formed, and therefore are much more self-sufficient—and self-directed—than many people thought these days. His own mother had convinced him of this fact. Neal and his older brother, Kevin, were total opposites. Neal was quiet, intellectual, and somewhat introverted, whereas Kevin was rambunctious, outgoing, and barely made it through a two-year college. Their mother had always said this difference was evident long before either of them were born. Neal barely moved inside his mother’s womb, while Kevin kicked so violently that, at times, she was afraid he might do some internal damage.

  Neal finally located a section in the book on speech development. He read it carefully. Most babies, it said, begin to “vocalize” between 8 and 10 months, and usually after 12 to 14 months begin to form “meaningful word combinations.” The book went on to say, in a very reassuring tone, that many children begin speech much later than this, and that such tardiness is not a reflection of a lack of intelligence, potential for success, or any other measure. Some children simply begin the speech process later than others.

  Neal picked up a few other books and read essentially the same thing in them. He soon realized that he would not find the information he was truly after. It was clear that all of these books were written to pacify the Annies of the world, mothers and fathers who were worrying about when their babies “should” start talking and then what to do to correct a tardiness problem. None of the books addressed the subject of unusually early speech. And why should they? Most parents would be delighted at this development. Instead of consulting their baby books or their pediatricians, they would rush out to brag to all their friends.

  Neal sighed and picked up the first book again, rereading the beginning of the passage on speech. Most children begin vocalizing at 8 to 10 months and putting together meaningful word combinations at 12 to 14 months.

  “Eight to ten months,” Neal murmured.

  His kid had already put together a “meaningful word combination” at five months.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Neal put the book back on the shelf, contemplating this question as he walked out of the store. He finally decided it could only mean two things. Either he had imagined the entire incident with Natasha, in which case he probably needed to make another trip to the bookstore, but this time to the Self Help section. Or, it meant that his theory about children coming into the world with a certain level of mind and spirit was much more accurate than he thought.

  * * *

  Mother and daughter were lying side by side in bed, sleeping peacefully. Annie drifted in and out of consciousness, relishing the quiet, but still disturbed by what had happened that morning with Neal. If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny. A five-month old baby saying “I love you!” How ridiculous!

  Annie raised her head and peered at Natasha’s little face. “It’s just silly, isn’t it thweetie?” She barely whispered the words, not daring to wake the child. Annie had read that it wasn’t good to interrupt an infant’s normal sleeping pattern, that it might cause insomnia or other sleeping disorders later in life.

  Annie gave a quiet sigh and lay her head back down on her pillow, staring blankly out the window. A part of her wanted to believe what Neal had told her. She supposed that was normal, that every mother probably wanted to think of her baby as extraordinary or gifted. But she just couldn’t believe that Natasha had spoken. The very idea of it was ludicrous! It was only Neal’s over-active imagination, fueled by his guilt over his own attitude and behavior towards Natasha. That was the sad part. It was clear from the very beginning that Neal hated Natasha and blamed everything on her—his decision to get married (what do you expect when you get someone pregnant!), having to quit school (temporarily, so he could get a job and work for a living a support his family, like most people!), and being cut off from his father (no great loss!). The thought that he imagined Natasha telling him that she loved him was...well, just pathetic.

  Annie wasn’t much of an intellectual, but she had an intuitive sense of psychology, even Neal admitted that. She had learned a lot from reading magazine articles. There was one article, called Projecting Our Hidden Selves, that had stuck in her mind, mainly because it made her think of Neal so many times while she was reading it. Today, after he had left for work, the gist of it had come back to her. The article had explained that when a strong part of your personality was repressed, it would grow more and more powerful until it forced you to look it right in the face. Annie didn’t fully understand it as she was reading it. But now, it seemed crystal clear to her. And she was certain that the process it described was exactly what had been happening to Neal.

  Somewhere hidden deep down inside of him, there was another Neal, a Neal who was vulnerable and caring and loving, a Neal who desperately needed her and Natasha just as much as they needed him. She had glimpsed that part of him only a few times, mostly at the beginning of their relationship (how could she have fallen in love with him otherwise?), but now it had almost disappeared, buried somewhere inside him. And now, that hidden part of him had gained such strength that it had projected itself onto Natasha, making him believe that the little infant had actually told him that she loved him!

  Annie started to feel sick. She sat upright in the bed, afraid she might throw up. The room seemed to spin around and around.

  This wasn’t a marriage...it was a nightmare.

  Annie touched her hand to her queasy stomach. She needed some Pepto-Bismal. Natasha was still sleeping peacefully, so Annie quietly got up out of the bed. She paused at the door and gazed at her lovely child again, then looked up at the telephone. It was only inches away from Natasha’s head, on the night stand, but the receiver was still off the hook, so it couldn’t ring and wake her up.

  Satisfied that all was in order, Annie padded through the living room and into the kitchen. She took a swig of the pink stomach settler out of the bottle. It had become her breakfast of choice during the first few weeks of her pregnancy, when she developed morning sickness and didn’t want Shellie, her nosy roommate at that time, to know about it.

  Annie wiped her mouth and put the bottle back in the cupboard. In a matter of minutes, her stomach had stopped gurgling. Then he realized she was hungry. She opened the refrigerator door. There was a half-full carton of chocolate milk on the middle shelf. Annie eyed it with such lust it felt almost sexual. What had happened to her willpower?

  She glanced down at her flabby figure, hidden underneath her tattered yellow housecoat. Her appearance now was disgusting, she knew. It was no wonder that Neal didn’t seem interested in having sex with her anymor
e. Her breasts were shriveled and sad-looking, from constantly nursing Natasha. But they had never been very big. This not only made her feel unattractive as a woman, it made her feel inadequate as a mother. They were so small she had to use store-bought formula as supplement most of the time.

  Before she had gotten pregnant, though, she had felt comfortable with her body—she was in almost perfect shape. She had even won second place at a “best suntan” contest at the Buckhead Beach Club. In fact, if she hadn’t participated in that fateful contest, she and Neal probably wouldn’t have met. Neal had approached her afterwards and made some small talk, obviously trying to pick her up. One thing led to another, and she’d ended up spending the night with him. This was something that she had never done before, sleeping with someone so quickly, but with Neal, everything just “clicked.” Until she had found out she was pregnant, at least.

  Annie stood in front of the open refrigerator for several minutes, trying to control herself, but finally grabbed the carton of chocolate milk and took a few hungry gulps. As soon as she took the carton away from her lips, she was angry with herself.

  She plopped down on one of the squeaky dinette chairs. As she did this, she noticed that her hind quarters seemed to cover a little more of the seat than it had a month ago. Annie had always been a little pear-shaped, a fact Neal seemed to like (he used to say he liked her “bubble butt”). But now, she looked a little like her mother. No, that wasn’t true—Annie couldn’t insult her mother like that. Her mother looked better than she did. At 48!

  But what could Annie, or anyone, expect? Now she was living her life for her baby daughter, not for herself. She had no time for nightly workouts or Weight Watchers or spending any time making herself “beautiful.” The most important thing in her life was Natasha—her precious baby was all that mattered. She wanted to make sure that her daughter grew up in a healthy environment and didn’t get messed up like so many other kids she had known. And like she’d been messed up herself.